


there's a spark in your centre that's piercing me in

by blackkat



Series: Blyla Drabbles [6]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Western, Courting Rituals, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Rescue, Well - Freeform, one idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “Secura,” he rasps, and instinct should say to jerk away from her, tackle her to the scrub and try to finally get the drop on her, but Bly's a weak man. Instead of any of that, he leans into the curve of her body, and Aayla makes a low, gentle sound, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.“Bly,” she returns, and her voice is low amusement, even as her knife slices through the ropes binding his wrists. “I thought we had something special, and now I find you're letting yourself be captured by other people? I'm wounded.”
Relationships: CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura
Series: Blyla Drabbles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615657
Comments: 20
Kudos: 368





	there's a spark in your centre that's piercing me in

**Author's Note:**

> There was talk in the server about how Bly's pistols canonically have hilts made of krayt dragon pearls, which is just _massively_ fancy of him. One person said they had to be a courting gift from Aayla, and it spiraled from there.

The slide of the bandana away from Bly's eyes after so long being blindfolded is a moment of shaky relief so complete that he almost can't breathe steadily for more reasons than just the rope around his throat for a moment as the cloth falls away. A second later, long, slim fingers brush his throat, and there's a fall of familiar blue lek speckled with silver across his eyes.

“Easy, Marshall,” a soothing voice says, and Bly is relieved enough to hear it that he doesn’t even flinch from the vibroblade that skims his throat. The rope falls away, and he groans, hunching forward as he finally drags in full breaths for the first time in too many hours.

“Secura,” he rasps, and instinct _should_ say to jerk away from her, tackle her to the scrub and try to finally get the drop on her, but Bly's a weak man. Instead of any of that, he leans into the curve of her body, and Aayla makes a low, gentle sound, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Bly,” she returns, and her voice is low amusement, even as her knife slices through the ropes binding his wrists. “I thought we had something special, and now I find you're letting yourself be captured by other people? I'm wounded.”

“I’ll show you wounded,” Bly mutters, but his heart isn't in it. He heard the fight, and there's a dark form sprawled out in the corner of his vision, but he doesn’t need to look to know the bastards who were trying to take over the settlement are dead. They’d thought getting Bly out of the way would be enough, but—

Well. No way they could have accounted for an outlaw having staked out the same town.

Aayla laughs, soft and sweet, and she rubs his wrists beneath the edge of his vambraces, fingers leaving a tingle in their wake. The gold scarf wrapped around her head to keep the sun off her lekku is the one she stole from Bly the last time they tussled, and—it looks good on her. Bly won't admit that seeing her in his colors is what’s making his mouth dry, but it’s definitely not just the heat.

“What are you even doing here?” he asks roughly as Aayla slides around him, keeping a hand on his shoulder to hold him upright as she leans down to cut his feet free.

He can see the lightsaber on her hip, entirely within reach if he was going to grab it, and he _should_. All Jedi are wanted, with high bounties and no particulars about whether they're handed in dead or alive. They're part of an illegal cult, an order the Empire outlawed centuries ago, and Aayla's never made a secret of the fact that that’s exactly what she is. And yet—

“I was bringing you a present,” Aayla says merrily, and the smile she casts him, the _look_ she gives him from under her lashes, shoves right into Bly's chest to lodge beneath his ribcage. “Flash told me what happened, and I tracked you here as quickly as I could.”

Of course Flash did. Apparently it’s time to have another word with his deputies about not giving valuable information out to criminals, _especially_ criminals who the planet’s governor would really like to see executed in the town square. Bly lets out an annoyed breath, and he _has_ his orders. He should be following them, just like Flash should be following his.

And yet, when Aayla leans in, one callused hand cupping his cheek as she frowns worriedly at the bruises there, Bly can't bring himself to pull away. Aayla's hand is _warm_ , and when she settles on her knees beside him, all Bly wants is to lean forward and drop his head on her shoulder. He could just…stay there for a while. Let the settlement make do with his deputies for an hour or two.

Aayla's fingers slide into his hair, stroking gently. “You had me worried, Bly,” she says softly, and Bly _knows_ she’s a dangerous criminal from a sect the emperors have spent centuries trying to wipe out, but when she kisses his temple it’s _hard_ to think about anything except turning his head and catching her mouth, kissing her the way he’s had far, _far_ too many fantasies about over the months she’s been here.

It’s not just that she’s beautiful, or graceful, or the deadliest fighter he’s ever seen. She’s _kind_. There are too many rich bastards around here, profiting off the mines and leaving the locals to starve, and she’s been taking money, supplies, handing them out. Bly's technically the planet’s law enforcement, because that’s what the clones were created for, but he’s starting to come to the realization that he might not be the best for the position.

“Sorry,” he gets out, even though it’s the last thing he should be saying to an outlaw. He gets a hand up, though, presses it against the warm skin of her back where her jacket rides up, and closes his eyes as she wraps her arms a little more tightly around him. “Next time I’ll tell the lawless bandits that someone else has dibs.”

Aayla laughs, pulling back, and her smile is the loveliest thing Bly has ever seen in his entire life. “Please do,” she says. “And you of all people know how to find me, Bly, if you ever need me.”

Bly can't keep from reaching up, physically can't resist the urge to cup her cheek. The way she turns her head, kisses his palm—that’s almost enough to undo him right there, and his breath shudders out of his lungs.

“If they send an Inquisitor—” he starts, but the words die on his tongue. He should _call_ for an Inquisitor, by all rights. He just…hasn’t. The idea of one of them coming for Aayla, hunting her down—he can't stand it. And as long as the governor doesn’t learn that she’s a Jedi, she’ll be safe here.

Aayla smiles, tugging his hand away, and rises up on her knees. Bly very desperately jerks his eyes away from the neckline of her lowcut top, away from blue skin that looks so soft, that he’s had _thoughts_ about that he’d never admit to awake.

And then he’s entirely distracted, because Aayla is unbuckling a pair of holsters from around her waist, pulling them off and wrapping them neatly, then offering them up as she sinks back down.

“These are for you,” she says, and Bly _loves_ that smile, but he doesn’t trust it in the _least_. “My gift, for nursing me back to health.”

“It was just a bacta patch,” Bly says, even as he reaches out to take them. The pair of blasters catch the light, the hilts shining with shifting shades of deep teal and black, and Bly's breath catches. He draws one, careful, reverent, and they're _beautiful_ , finely-crafted blasters with stone he doesn’t recognize set into the handles. It gives them more weight than most of the mass-produced blasters end up with, and Bly appreciates it as he raises it, sighting down the barrel.

“They're krayt dragon pearls,” Aayla says, watching him with a smile, and Bly fumbles as shock ricochets through him, almost dropping the blaster as he jerks his head up to stare at her.

“ _What_?” he demands, too loud, voice cracking, but—krayt dragon pearls are _precious_. They sell for hundreds of thousands of credits _apiece_ , and Bly has no idea how many it takes to make a blaster, but definitely more than one.

Aayla laughs, rising to her feet and dusting off her pants. “No one will trace them back to you,” she says, which is not what Bly wants to hear _at all_. She must know that, but Aayla just straightens her scarf— _his_ scarf—and gives him a cheeky smile as she heads for her speeder.

“No one was robbed who didn’t deserve it, Bly,” she says merrily, and swings onto it, starting the engine. “I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“You shouldn’t be robbing _anyone_!” Bly protests, scrambling to his feet as well, and he’s _holding_ the blasted pistols, he could just draw one and—

Aayla laughs, raising her fingers to her lips and blowing him a cheeky kiss. “I'm an _outlaw_ , Marshall,” she reminds him, and with a spray of red dust the speeder takes off. Bly shouts, but Aayla just raises a hand in farewell and then is gone, vanishing into the mouth of the canyon.

For half a second, Bly contemplates going after her. He _could_. It’s not that far a walk, and he knows she holes up in one of the caves down there sometimes. He could follow the speeder’s tracks, hunt her down, find her hideout and…

Well. That’s the complicated part, isn't it?

Bly breathes out, scrubbing a hand over his bruised face like he can't still feel the touch of Aayla's hand. Like he isn't holding weapons, weapons _made_ for him, which is a hell of a thing, for a Mandalorian. Especially coming from a warrior like Aayla.

But she’s not Mandalorian. She probably doesn’t know. It probably doesn’t mean anything.

Bly stares down at the pistols, the glow of deep green and black stone, and closes his eyes with a groan. It’s going to be a long walk back to the settlement, but…

Well. Between the pistols, the heat of her skin, the brush of her lips, and the sight of her in Bly's own colors, he’s going to have a hell of a lot to think about on his way.


End file.
